


safety measure

by Psilent (HereThereBeFic)



Series: catch your breath; there are no breaks [2]
Category: LazyTown
Genre: Dark, Friendship, Friendship with even more question marks after it, Gen, Magic, Near Death Experiences, Number 9 Was Not Nice, glamour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-19
Updated: 2016-12-19
Packaged: 2018-09-09 20:07:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8910265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HereThereBeFic/pseuds/Psilent
Summary: He and Robbie had a mutual understanding, was the thing. A largely unspoken one, but an understanding nonetheless. Or rather –– half unspoken, on each side. Sportacus was very open about his willingness to compromise. Robbie was very open about the underlying threat of what might happen if that compromise ever failed.





	

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for the wonderful response to the first story in this series! i have at least one more idea for it after this.
> 
> i am also [on tumblr](http://defectivevorta.tumblr.com).

He was disappointed in himself for wearing the gloves, but something had to give.

He wasn't _afraid_ , exactly. It was just that every second his palms were exposed was another second his brain spent trying to draw his attention to that fact. Distracting him from more important things.

So he started wearing exercise gloves. Fingerless, of course. He didn't need Robbie thinking that empty threat had actually rattled him.

Not that its emptiness had anything to do with a lack of ability. No, Sportacus knew better than that. But Robbie wasn't one for wasting energy, and he had just gone to great lengths to _save_ his life.

It had been a few days. Sportacus had slept through nearly two of them, which did nothing to ease the children's fears. And now the gloves.

"It's just a safety measure," he told the kids, who crowded around him with dozens of rapid-fire questions the instant he came back into town. "You walk around on your hands as much as I do and you really should think about why people wear shoes! I just want to be more careful, is all."

More worried questions, more rehearsed reassurances, more guilt on all sides. No, it was no one's fault there was broken glass in that field; sometimes these things just happened. Yes, he was fine now, and he was sorry he hadn't written; he just hadn't felt very good for a couple of days. (He just hadn't _realized_ it had been a couple of days. He just had never been so tired in his life. He just hadn't noticed time slipping by while he stared at his blank walls and wondered _how_ _close_ he had been to death.)

Luckily, Sportacus was something of an expert in rerouting nervous energy. His own and other people's. The day quickly spiraled into a series of games and events, the kids jumping haphazardly from one idea to the next. Most of the games ended up unfinished, but even Trixie and Stingy weren't starting arguments about the scores, so Sportacus didn't bother suggesting that they try applying a bit more structure to their activities. They were having fun and not worrying about _him_ , and that was the important thing.

And by the end of the afternoon, everything was... fine.

Which was, frankly, suspicious. Was Robbie giving him a _break_?

When the kids finally grew tired of the last game of the day (soccer), Sportacus smiled, and said he'd see them tomorrow, and did not call for the ladder to his ship. He waited until all of the children were out of sight, and then took off through town. Heading for the billboard.

(And he very deliberately did _not_ slow down in that field.)

He and Robbie had a mutual understanding, was the thing. A largely unspoken one, but an understanding nonetheless. Or rather –– half unspoken, on each side. Sportacus was very open about his willingness to compromise. Robbie was very open about the underlying threat of what might happen if that compromise ever failed.

One facet of the understanding was this: Robbie didn't use wards. So Sportacus always knocked.

The periscope gave him a distinctly unimpressed look.

Sportacus sighed. "We need to talk."

* * *

He had never actually _liked_ spending time in Robbie's lair, and now he had a better idea why. It wasn't just the stifling clutter, the abundance of processed sugar, or the certain knowledge that he was only here because he was allowed to be. There had always been... a feeling. A nagging, crawling sensation, urging him to _get out, get out, this place is not_ _ **for you**_ _._ Now he could identify it. Robbie was part fae, and even without deliberate wards, this place _belonged_ to him.

"Well?" Robbie demanded, so far not deigning to so much as get out of his chair.

Sportacus leaned carefully on a work table and tried not to touch anything. He glanced around, despite himself. Now that he _knew_ , he couldn't help looking ––

"Looking for iron?"

Sportacus jerked his head back around, caught. "I just––"

"I said it doesn't hurt me _much_ , I didn't say I actively seek it out."

"Sorry," Sportacus said quietly. "Just, um. Curious, I guess."

Robbie rolled his eyes. "If that's why you're here, you might as well leave. I am not in the mood for a frank discussion with my..." He eyed Sportacus critically. "... _opponent_ about all my supernatural strengths and weaknesses, and I never will be."

"That's not why." Sportacus looked down at the floor and then wished he hadn't. He looked at Robbie instead. "There's... something."

Robbie tilted his head. "Something?"

"Yes."

"Well, don't spoil me with details or anything."

Sportacus shook his head, frustration creeping in. The words wouldn't –– the _thoughts_ wouldn't come. "There's," he ground out, and tapped his forehead twice while looking Robbie in the eye, " _something_."

Robbie stood up. "...Something we can't––" he choked. Growled. "Oh, _wonderful_."

"He left something," Sportacus said. Pain was blossoming in his skull and starting to crawl down his neck, into his shoulders, his back, his legs. He ignored it. "Something –– subtle. Powerful. It feels –– all over. Everyone. Even you. Even me. I don't –– know what it is yet, but––"

" _Stop_ ," Robbie said sharply.

Sportacus opened his eyes, wondered when he'd closed them, and realized he'd slid halfway to the floor, barely supporting himself against the tabletop. He gasped for breath, shut his eyes again, counted backwards from ten. Thought about nothing else.

Robbie gave him a few seconds, and then spoke again. "I think maybe you haven't fully comprehended the fact that you _almost died_ , what, three days ago? Four? Not even just _almost_ died, _should_ _have_ _died_. Maybe give yourself a week or two before you start attacking simple tasks like _unravel_ _ling_ _mass_ _g_ _lamours_ , hero."

Almost died. Should have died. Right.

"...Right." He pushed off from the table. Sought for better parting words than this. Caught sight of Robbie's phone and awkwardly gestured at it. "I'll –– call you when I figure it out."

"You do that." Robbie sat back down. A clear dismissal that he followed up with an unnecessary, "Now leave. And seriously, _don't_ _touch it_. Not until you're completely back to your obnoxious, insufferable self."

Sportacus frowned. He wasn't really up for an argument, not now. But... "I can't just leave this alone."

"I'm not telling you to! You think I don't want to know what else that –– what else he's _done_? I'm just saying _wait_." Robbie sighed, and let maybe an ounce of the theatricality drop from his posture, his voice. "I put a lot of work into keeping you alive, elf," he said quietly, initiating uncharacteristic eye contact. "Don't make me regret it."

**Author's Note:**

> sportacus: [vaults over personal trauma like a relay hurdle] parkour


End file.
